Examination
by Ersatz Einstein
Summary: Spock isn't qualified to undo Mirror-Spock's damage to Dr. McCoy's mind, so they call in a professional. (I've noticed that most fics on "Mirror, Mirror" follow-up focus on the discovery of the meld rather than treatment, so I thought I'd try my hand.) Rated T for paranoia.
1. Chapter 1

The doctor in him had to admit that he'd been growing worried. For weeks, he had found himself holed up in Sickbay, hour after hour, preferring readings and patient files to the possibility of encountering Spock in the corridor. He'd assured himself that he'd get over it, and in the meantime, it would only make him more efficient. The nightmares had seemed manageable enough at first, but then, he'd been expecting them to decrease, rather than increase, in frequency.

Even the first attacks hadn't overly worried him. After all, someone had… _interfered with _his central nervous system. There was no surprise in some minor blackouts as things returned to normal; if anything, they only strengthened his resolve to remain in Sickbay and keep the others from finding out. They'd only worry. In any case, they only lasted from half a second to three. Most of the time, he didn't even trip.

It was only when things started to worsen, rather than improve, that alarm bells started going off. The obvious conclusion was that whatever was wrong with him was continuing to go wrong. _'Like an infection,' _he thought more than once. _'It'll just keep rotting away at your head until you figure out how to treat it.' _Soon, the nightmares were no longer gasps at three in the morning, but fear of sleep at two. The blackouts turned into seizures, which in turn lengthened from a couple of seconds of blinding white and confusion to minutes curled up in his office, willing the world to still long enough to go over his skull with a tricorder. But for some reason he couldn't quite define, the more his condition deteriorated, the more determined he became to keep it a secret.

It was almost a relief when they found out anyway. It didn't particularly matter how: perhaps one of them had noticed his newfound reluctance to force Spock into a bed after every violent mission; perhaps the dark bags under his eyes had prompted them to check his recorded sleep cycles. Perhaps he had simply grown careless, confident that between the distractions of their respective duties and the assumption that he could keep an eye on himself, any change in his behavior would be quickly dismissed. The point was that the secrecy hadn't lasted; as soon as they noticed one thing, they dragged all of his recognizable symptoms out of M'Benga and the ship's computer. They knew something was wrong, and they weren't going to leave him alone until he gave them a reasonable explanation.

"But that wouldn't explain it. I've seen Spock – our Spock, I mean – do it all the time, and he never – "

"Captain." His First's voice was a cool monotone, and his expression didn't waver from its characteristic blankness. "There is a high probability that Dr. McCoy is correct. Such symptoms are common following involuntary melding, particularly in non-telepathic races."

_'"Involuntary melding." Cute term.' _"I'm a doctor, alright? I've been keeping an eye out, and I know when something's going on."

"Then why didn't you just tell us?" It was a valid question, but a surge of irritation stopped the rational response on his tongue. Instead, he leveled a glare at the captain.

"'Cause it was none of your business. What would you have done about it, anyhow? It's not like we… could…" He trailed off, staring at the suspiciously thoughtful cast to Spock's features. "There is something, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is."

_'Of course. McCoy, you idiot.' _He felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to smack himself in the forehead. _'Don't do anything stupid. The last thing we need right now is another "illogical humans" lecture from the master of tact.'_ He took a deep breath.

"I should've asked," he volunteered aloud, voice level.

"… Yes," Spock replied, his word's trace of hesitation mirrored in his expression. "However, such an oversight is understandable."

The word 'oversight' didn't quite seem to cover it, but he decided to let it drop. He waited, almost politely, as Spock stared placidly at him, seemingly unaware that he'd just mentioned a cure. Astonishingly, McCoy wasn't the first to lose patience.

"Well, Spock?"

"Captain?" he replied mildly.

"What do we do to fix – er, help – him?" He kept his eyes trained on Spock as his face reddened.

"We do nothing, Captain. Unfortunately, recovery from forced mind melds is a difficult and complex process, even in telepathic species. I am not qualified to assist in such a process."

"Then who the hell is, you green-blo – _who?" _It was only through what was, in his opinion, an admirable degree of self-control that McCoy was able to keep his final word to a low hiss.

"I believe that the necessary techniques are required of all Vulcan healers, although given your lack of mental and meditative training, it would be best to seek out a specialist."

"Alright. So all we have to do is contact the nearest Vulcan outpost that can send someone here."

"That is a reasonable plan, Captain. Shall I make the arrangements?"

"Yes. And you," he added, turning to McCoy with a smirk, "should stay in Sickbay or your quarters. After all, you can't go gallivanting about when you – "

"Yeah, Jim. I get it." He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't resist an appreciative smile. In truth, it was worth the mockery to know that there was a plan to do something about the problem. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm a bit tired anyway. Maybe I'll get something from M'Benga to sleep."

"Sensible," nodded Spock. "Perhaps either the captain or myself should escort you. Your recent 'spells' have the potential to become hazardous."

"Fine. Just you, though. Jim should be back on the bridge."

Five minutes later, they were side by side in the turbolift, and for the first time since they'd begun to speak, Spock's expression betrayed something beyond professionalism and relevant curiosity.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Doctor?"

"Old Earth expression. I meant, did you want to say something?"

"… Indeed. Your decision to not approach Captain Kirk and myself is somewhat… perplexing. I would appreciate any insight you could give me into your decision."

He stared at the half-Vulcan for what felt like minutes, although it was most likely only seconds. _'What's he mean by that? Probably just weird curiosity about us illogical humans.'_

"Dunno," he said aloud. "I haven't given it much thought."

Spock said nothing more, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

He was a Vulcan, and as such, he would never have dared think himself nervous. Nervousness was an emotion, and he was far too logical to feel emotions. Such would've been his immediate response had anyone thought to ask him if he was nervous. Of course, no one did; with an obvious answer at hand, what was the point? In any case, both the pilot of the transporting shuttle and the _Enterprise _crew had met enough Vulcans to know that the question made them… uncomfortable.

Forced mind melds were rare occurrences, particularly in non-Vulcans. Such had not always been the case, but years of the chaos and violence to which they had contributed had assured their inclusion in the long list of crimes forbidden by Surak's teachings. In the intervening centuries, their incidence had dropped from three a year to one every fifty. He was relatively young. Granted, he had done extremely well in training, and he was considered more than qualified for his work. He had specialized in telepathic techniques and disorders. It would be illogical to think that just because he had never encountered such a thing as a forced meld, he would be unable to respond to it. Never mind that his patient wasn't Vulcan, or telepathic, or versed in even the basics of meditation that any child would know. Never mind that said patient was human, a species with which he had little professional contact, and none outside of textbooks and holovids. He was certain that he was sufficiently prepared.

With that said, he would be relieved to check into his new quarters and perform a few meditative exercises.

"S'vik, I presume?" greeted the _Enterprise's _captain with a broad smile.

"As I was identified as such prior to my departure for your ship, that is a logical assumption," he replied evenly. Behind him, he could hear the faint heartbeat of Commander Spock, standing at attention.

Strangely, the captain smiled. He seemed almost on the point of saying something when he glanced over at his first officer. _'His First is a Vulcan. He has undoubtedly had to adapt in order to communicate logically and effectively.' _Suddenly, the officer's decorum returned.

"Ah, yes," he coughed. "Of course. An ensign will shortly escort you to your quarters. I hope that they are… satisfactory." That strange smile was back. He'd have to find a way to ask Commander Spock about the captain's mental state. Later.

"Indeed. Afterwards, at the earliest convenience, I should meet with Dr. McCoy. It will be necessary to begin diagnostic and stabilizing procedures as soon as possible, particularly if the seizures have already begun."

"Captain," Spock interjected. "That seems the wisest course of action. On your command, I will have Dr. McCoy relieved and sent to S'vik's quarters."

"Excellent, Mr. Spock." He turned to smile at a young woman on his right. "Ensign, if you would."

"Yes, sir." She turned to him with a polite smile. _'Why must they always smile?'_ "Right this way, sir."

He followed her along the corridor, eyeing the fixtures with interest. _'It must be difficult to maintain a ship of this size. What warp speed did they say it was capable of attaining? Perhaps I can spare time later to tour the Engineering decks.' _They reached his room quickly, and after assuring the chipper ensign that it was more than acceptable, he found himself alone.

_'I most likely do not have time for an extended meditative period.' _Commander Spock wouldn't be likely to delay sending the doctor. _'A few minutes should be enough to prepare and dissipate any sensations of… discomfort.'_

He was right: it wasn't long before the bell chimed, but it was long enough that it took no effort at all to call, "Come" in a cool monotone.

His first thought was that his patient was remarkably restrained for a human. Among the details listed in his file was a newfound reluctance to work with or around Commander Spock, due no doubt to his overwhelming resemblance to his alternate universe counterpart. It was not unlikely that such fear extended to the Vulcan race as a whole. Yet his only immediate reaction to S'vik was a slight widening of his eyes. _'How else could he have kept his condition from the rest of the crew for as long as he did?'_ A moment later, it was gone, vanished into the serious appraisal of one professional healer surveying another.

He rose. "Doctor."

"S'vik. Any particular title I should use?"

"That would be unnecessary. I can already be clearly differentiated from the majority of those onboard; a title would be a waste of mnemonic effort."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So what kind of Vulcan nonsen – stuff are you planning to do to me, anyway?"

"We will commence with a series of exercises. Some will be meditative in nature, others… not." His research on non-telepathic races, and humans in particular, had recommended discussion as an alternative to the more complex forms of mental discipline, but he needed more detail. "They should temporarily halt the progression of the damage and alleviate your symptoms." He wondered, suddenly, if it wouldn't be best to imply a slightly milder procedure. When working with humans, after all, one must be careful with their emotions.

He continued, "Once your mind has become sufficiently stable, I will conduct a series of directed telepathic procedures, including… a mind meld." McCoy flinched slightly at the words, but his expression quickly changed from one of apprehension to one of suspicion.

He was certain that his hesitation had been minute, but somehow, the doctor had noticed it.

"'_A_ mind meld,' S'vik?" His eyes narrowed.

"… Possibly more than one, depending on the severity of your case." McCoy continued to glare, crossing his arms defiantly. _'Humans.' _"Given your failure to meditate independently, as a Vulcan would have, or report the incident immediately – " That at least drew a moment of chagrin. " – I would estimate at least three."

For a second, it looked almost as though the human was going to have some sort of highly emotional reaction. Hit him, maybe. But much to his surprise, he merely nodded.

"Fine. Where do we start?"

He gestured to a padded chair, taking a seat on the room's couch. "Diagnostic tests. If you will take a seat, doctor…"


	3. Chapter 3

To his surprise, S'vik didn't immediately drop into the lotus position common to meditating Vulcans, even after announcing that they'd do some meditative exercises. Instead, he paused, as if trying to search for the right words, before resettling himself in a vaguely shrug-like manner and steepling his fingers.

"Doctor, what experience, if any, do you have with meditation?"

"Well, I've seen Spock do it once or twice, and I had to read a few books on it way back when for psychology. My prof was one of those hippy types. Big fan."

S'vik stared at him for a moment, and he could almost _see _the implied raised eyebrow. "But you have never achieved a meditative state yourself?"

"No, I haven't. Never struck me as a big deal. I could've taken one of those classes, but it seemed like kind of a waste of time, you know?" There was a brief pause. "No offense."

The Vulcan didn't bother to provide the obvious platitude. Instead, he straightened, somehow becoming more than ramrod straight.

"In that case, it would be best if we began with simple breathing exercises. Close your eyes," he instructed. After McCoy hesitantly complied, he continued, "Focus on each breath. If possible, visualize its path within your circulatory system. Allow your breathing to slow. Relax. Tension is counterint – "

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up, will you?" He didn't open his eyes, but his eyebrows narrowed. _'How am I supposed to relax with a pointy-eared computer droning in my ears? Honestly… Alright, focus. This isn't going to get better until you can do this, and getting angry's not going to help.'_ He took a deep breath, then another. He pictured – in what was most likely far too much detail – the path of air from his nose to his trachea, from there to his main bronchial division. He could almost feel it spreading out within his lungs, filling each tiny alveolus, and the tension in his shoulders was starting to decrease –

"You seem to have become more relaxed."

A blue eye popped open. "I was until you started talking," he snarled. _'Hell, maybe Spock is better at dealing with humans than I gave him credit for.'_

"It is hardly my fault, doctor, that your meditative skills are severely lacking."

"Well, it ain't mine, either," he snapped, accent strengthening with the strain. "I signed on to be a doctor, not a voodoo – "

He stopped. There was a faint buzzing in his ears, growing to a ringing clamor; a metallic taste tinged the back of his throat. He tried to say something, but his tongue seemed stuck to the floor of his mouth. (Then again, he might've managed it. It was increasingly difficult to hear.) S'vik had an almost quizzical expression on his face, clearly unsure as to whether the sudden change in behavior was merely an irrational quirk or something more serious.

His doubts disappeared when his patient hit the floor.

…

He awoke in Sickbay to two deeply unpleasant revelations: he had had another seizure, and if he kept losing his temper at S'vik, it wouldn't be the last.

"Dr. McCoy?" Make that three. _'What the devil is Spock doing here?'_ His throbbing headache was accompanied by an abrupt tightness in his chest; he knew it wasn't rational, but even weeks after it happened, he had to fight the urge to have a panic attack every time the half-Vulcan was around.

"What?" he said aloud, more harshly than intended. "Is there something I can do?" he added in a calmer tone.

"No. However, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

"Well, I'd tell you to take a chair, but it looks like you already have," he managed, friendly smile frozen in place. Spock's skeptical eyebrow raise shattered it into pieces.

"Just tell me what you want," he muttered.

"I would – I want to inquire about your recent behavior towards me. It would appear to be deliberate avoidance."

"So?"

"… Why do you consider it necessary to avoid me?"

"You know why," he muttered. Spock paused before answering.

"I know the relevant circumstances, but the reasons for your decision remain unclear. I wish to explore them in more detail."

"Why? It must be easier for you, not having to deal with me all the time. I haven't been bothering you with my 'irrelevant' tests, or arguing with you about logic, or making fun of your ears. You've got it made."

Spock drew back slightly, and while McCoy may have been imagining it, he seemed almost offended. "You are correct. However, while my life has become far less difficult in your absence, I believe that there may be negative consequences to your actions that you have not considered. For instance, as officers aboard the same starship, we are expected to interact at official functions. Furthermore, any disruption in your ability to manage my presence will surely hamper our efficacy on missions of significant import, and – "

"Hang on," he interrupted, propping himself up on one arm. "Are you trying to say you've missed me?"

"That would imply the existence of not one, but several emotions that I, as a Vulcan, do not possess." Pale nostrils flared slightly. McCoy knew better than to mention it.

"Look, Spock," he sighed instead, rubbing an aching temple. "I _know _that you didn't do it, and it's not your fault, but, well, I can't get over it. Having you around freaks me out, you know?"

"Are you 'freaked out' at the moment?"

"Yeah, a little." As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. Then again, it was obvious that Spock didn't want him to sugarcoat anything, and he'd been putting this conversation off since it happened. _'I should've done this weeks ago.' _"I don't suppose you have any ideas about fixing that?"

"Actually, I do. S'vik has informed me that shortly before your seizure, you expressed… distaste for his attempts to assist your meditation."

"He wouldn't shut up and let me concentrate's what you mean."

Spock held up a hand. Somehow, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, there was a tinge of humor in his voice.

"I would therefore propose that I attend your meditative sessions with the dual goal of preventing S'vik's less accommodating behaviors and acclimating you to my presence."

"That's the most – that's actually not a bad idea." _'Of course, he's always set me off just as quickly as the other one. This should be fun.'_ "Have you run it by S'vik yet?"

"I have. He seemed somewhat relieved by the prospect of assistance in managing your idiosyncrasies."

"I'll bet he did." He couldn't resist a small grin. "OK. We'll give it a shot. Start tomorrow?"

"Today would be preferable," he replied coolly, eyeing the blinking medical equipment around the room.

"… Yeah, you're probably right. Today, then."


	4. Chapter 4

For far from the first time, S'vik ran through his visual and auditory tapes on human physiology and psychology. Unfortunately, it had comprised a rather small portion of his education, and what little he _did _know suggested that his difficulty in understanding humans would persist in the absence of formal training.

Apparently, humans were primarily noted for their _('stubbornness') _persistence in opinion, even in the presence of contradictory facts. Their behavior was also notable for its utter lack of logic and subservience to emotion. The closest parallels he could think of were the historical reports of the pre-Surak era he had read as a child. Much like those primitive Vulcans, humans could become easily incensed or violent. Their dislike of plain truth had spawned a variety of deceptive categories and techniques, seen most easily in their political and social spheres. Unfortunately, little data was available on the latter, as human courtship rituals and culture had seemed of little practical interest to the bulk of ambassadors and scientists involved in initial Vulcan-Earth contact. The former, however, held a wealth of examples of deception for purposes of petty greed, pride, and other, unknown motivations. It was nothing if not unsettling.

He was pondering the distinctly confusing ramifications of Carl Jung's psychological model when his door chimed.

"Enter," he said, finishing his sentence before turning to greet his visitor. Commander Spock had come alone. _'Interesting.'_ He realized that, with the exception of their brief conversation concerning Spock's inclusion in the doctor's meditative sessions, they had yet to speak. "Is there anything I can do to assist you, Commander?"

"Dr. McCoy will be here shortly. Given his reaction to your first attempt at meditative instruction, I decided that it would be prudent to offer my services in understanding human irrationality. I am uniquely situated to study it, and as I recall, there is little information available to most Vulcans on the subject."

It hadn't occurred to S'vik to ask Spock, and he felt a moment of disconcerting surprise. It was really an obvious solution.

"That would be appreciated," he said aloud. "Please be seated." He did not bother to gesture. His word would be sufficient for a Vulcan.

Spock took his seat quickly, steepling his fingers. "We shall not have long to discuss. Dr. McCoy is expected to arrive between ten and fifteen minutes from now. Before I provide general observations, is there anything specific that has concerned or perplexed you in your research?"

"Indeed," he replied, unconsciously raising his hands into an approximation of the other's gesture. "My technique was based partly upon that used in the meditative education of Vulcan children, but also upon that used by human enthusiasts of 'mindfulness.' I surmised that such techniques would better appeal to a human mind than those to which Vulcans are accustomed. Yet Dr. McCoy appeared to respond poorly to those precise elements that I gleaned from human example. I cannot account for the incongruity." While his tone remained flat throughout, his right shoulder moved slightly on the word "cannot." Spock raised an eyebrow at the superfluous display of confusion, but chose not to comment on it.

"There are many species of human irrationality; their lack of discipline creates greater emotional and behavioral variation than is seen among Vulcans. It is not improbable that Dr. McCoy, who is abnormally… irritable for a human, misinterpreted your attempts to guide him as commentary on his inability and implications that he lacks the fundamental ability to focus independent of a guide."

"But is that not the case?" Spock's eyebrow twitched again, and S'vik had the strange impression that he had said something amusing.

"Perhaps, but it is best to not indicate that you believe that to be the case. Humans find such truths offensive."

"Offensive? Why?"

"I do not know. I merely know that it is so, and as we cannot change the irrationality of humans, it is best to take it into account."

"Of course." He didn't bother to compliment Spock on his logic. It was self-evident. "Is there something more general that you could tell me, perhaps a baseline for human behavior? While members of our race are not subject to bias, I have found the available information extremely limited as regards psychology."

"That does not surprise me." That odd almost-humor was back. _'Perhaps working with humans for too long has made him more demonstrative.' _The thought was a disturbing one; he set it aside for future meditation. _'After all, even if he has developed an illogical affinity with humans, it only makes him more knowledgeable in the area of human knowledge.' _He nodded for Spock to continue.

"I have found that the most useful tool in convincing humans, particularly those experiencing physical or mental injury, to cooperate is a visible display of empathy. At the very least, sympathy will suffice."

S'vik stiffened. "Commander, perhaps you forget yourself if you think – "

"Allow me to rephrase: it is necessary to speak in such a manner that a human will interpret as sympathetic. Actual sympathy is, of course, unnecessary and irrelevant."

"Of course," he repeated, careful to conceal his relief. "How should I do so?"

"You are undoubtedly aware of the psychological and emotional effects of such assaults as Dr. McCoy has experienced on Vulcans. My understanding is that they are similar for humans, although more difficult to detect due to human dissimulation and the chaos of general human emotion. It seems likely that the doctor would be reassured to learn that it is not only his physiological symptoms that can be traced to the attack."

S'vik nodded slowly. It made absolutely no logical sense, but if it would help, he was obligated by his status as a healer to try it.

Accordingly, when Dr. McCoy entered seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, he was greeted by the somewhat stiff assurance that any disarray in his emotional state, whether it took the form of anger, fear, or frustration, was normal and understood. He nodded with a humanly open expression of confusion.

"So, are we going to get down to it?" he ventured, sounding somehow astounded at his eagerness to begin.

S'vik couldn't resist a glance at Spock. Neither, of course, changed expression, but he felt a faint twinge of pleasure. Apparently, it had worked. _'I should take his suggestions more often.'_

"Of course. I am certain you remember the broad outline of the technique we began last time." He would've been shocked to see the twinkle in his eye as he continued, "I promise that I shall 'shut up' this time."

With an embarrassed mutter about "damned Vulcans just getting on my nerves," he sat and closed his eyes.

Following the example of Commander Spock, S'vik remained mostly silent, interjecting with advice only when explicitly asked, and much to his surprise, after thirty exceedingly dull minutes, Dr. McCoy's breathing deepened, and the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed. He turned to Spock, only to see the other Vulcan's eyes on his.

_ 'Do you understand?' _they seemed to say. _'Be careful, and it will work.'_


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy opened his eyes to the shocking realization that they had been closed for well over an hour. _'Well, what do you know? Pointy-ears actually helped with something. One for the books.'_ S'vik was still clearly meditating, sitting motionless and rigid on the floor, but Spock was ignoring both of them, quietly typing something into a PADD. Sensing McCoy's eyes upon him, he looked up and gave a brief nod before returning to his task. The doctor found himself soon looking away as well. Like it or not, meditation hadn't lessened his discomfort any, and the dark eyebrows and darker eyes threatened to raise his anxiety from the meditation's hazy aftermath.

He considered trying to start a conversation, if only to remind himself that Spock would act as he always had, but the silence and accompanying sense of solitude were too relaxing to shatter. In fact, when he paused to think of it, it occurred to him that he hadn't felt so reassuringly (if deceptively) alone since_ it_ had happened. It wasn't so much a sense of being watched as one of being connected to the event by invisible, mental strings, as though he had walked through a spider web and couldn't get rid of its clingy strands of silk. With the strands gone, his mind felt more secure, disconnected. Safe.

"Doctor?" The PADD was off, resting on a low table beside the Vulcan, and he'd shifted to view McCoy more easily.

"Yeah, Spock?" Without his meaning it to, a note of irritation crept into his tone. "What is it?"

"Have you sensed any difference in your condition as a result of the meditation?"

"… I think it's better. Might just be relaxed from sitting around, though. I'll have to wait and see if it sticks."

Spock gave a solemn nod in response.

"I thought you were going to meditate, too," he said, jerking his head at S'vik. "Why aren't you out?"

An eyebrow quirked. "I was, as you say, 'out' for some time. However, I have sufficient experience with self-discipline, as well as familiarity with this ship and my duties, to control my mental state with comparatively little meditation. S'vik is young and inexperienced. He most likely finds this assignment draining. It is unsurprising that he would require more time."

"Aw, I didn't mean to tire the kid out," he replied with a smirk.

"He is a Vulcan. He is hardly 'tired out,' and I have no doubt he will adapt to any minor discomfort." The glint in Spock's eyes suggested otherwise.

"You mean like you 'adapted' back on Neural, when you were in so deep you couldn't wake up without help?"

"That was a healing trance, doctor, and while it does not surprise me that one with your lack of specialized knowledge should fail to note the distinction, I must note that – "

"You 'must note' nothing, you green-blooded computer. If my knowledge is 'unspecialized,' it's only because I'm in Science, not Engineering!"

It was the first time since it had happened that they really bantered, and while he knew Spock would rather let himself get shot again than admit it, McCoy was certain the Vulcan was enjoying it as much as he was. _'If it weren't for that bearded counterpart of his, we could've been doing this all week,' _he thought with a pang. He deliberately set the thought aside in favor of returning a volley on the alleged "sloppiness" of his recent reports, easing himself back into the game. So absorbed did they become that neither noticed S'vik's focus returning until he spoke:

"Fascinating."

McCoy could've imagined it, but it seemed Spock stiffened slightly.

"Indeed. Are you finished?"

"Yes." He turned to McCoy. "Doctor, have you found any changes in the residual effects of the meld following meditation?"

"I think so. Not sure." He paused, searching for a simple way to describe the sense of privacy. "I feel a little less… cracked open. Is that a good sign?" Twin nods from the two Vulcans. "Why is that, anyway?"

"One of the common side effects of melding, particularly non-consensual melding, is loss of control over mental shields." _'"Particularly non-consensual?" Note to self: make sure Spock's okay after his next meld.' _"Such shields are attacked, damaged, or in severe cases, entirely destroyed in the effort to gain access. Contrary to popular belief, non-telepathic races have primitive mental shields of their own, often unconsciously maintained. It is these that grant such races such control over their emotions as they possess and give them a sense of mental 'privacy.' It is highly likely that yours were damaged, although I cannot determine why emotional instability was not listed among your symptoms."

"If I may, Doctor McCoy's emotional control is lacking even by human standards. Instability from the meld may have easily passed unnoticed."

"I'll show you unnoticed, you – "

"Yes, I see what you mean." S'vik's finger moved to his chin. "I take it that such exchanges as I overheard are normal for the doctor and yourself?"

Spock's expression would've seemed neutral to the average observer, but to Dr. McCoy, it looked like a smirk. "Indeed."

"That would make sense." S'vik steepled his fingers for a moment before returning his attention to his patient. "With your permission, doctor, we will continue daily meditation sessions of at least an hour and ten minutes for another two weeks, at which point we shall reevaluate your progress."

"What about the seizures?"

"They will be reduced by the meditation to the point of treatment with standard medication." He paused for a moment before adding, "Does the plan have your approval, doctor?"

"Oh, right. Sure." The sheer relief at hearing the most worrisome symptom would stop delayed his realization that he should ask the approval of the third person in the room. "Spock?"

"It seems reasonable, and I lack the expertise to criticize."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. _'So all you have to do to keep him from piping up is be an expert in something he doesn't know about and a _Vulcan_. Amazing I missed that.' _He considered calling Spock out on it, but he didn't really want to add to S'vik's impression of him as an abnormally aggressive human. In any case, the constant shout of, "No seizures!" in his head was making it difficult to focus on his irritation.

They were making progress.


	6. Chapter 6

Astonishingly, things continued without incident for the next week. Once a day, they met, meditated, and quickly dispersed. The meditation lasted longer each time, something he'd been assured was a good sign, the seizures had vanished, and he was even starting to get his sleep back, dozing off long before any sedative he'd tried would've been able to kick in. (He still had a tendency to wake up unnervingly early, heart pounding with the thought that something terrible was about to happen, but there was no need to bother S'vik with that.) He was beginning to tentatively hope that things might go smoothly.

Of course, as with everything from diplomatic missions to his attempts to keep Kirk on any kind of diet, reality just _had _to defy his expectations. Accordingly, just when he was starting to feel genuinely comfortable in his skin again, S'vik _had _to suggest the first mind meld.

"No. Absolutely not. I don't need any kind of Vulcan voodoo to – "

"If I may, doctor, it is only Vulcan techniques that have prevented the further decay of your faculties and begun to ameliorate your condition."

"Yes, thank you, Spock." He rolled his eyes. "But in case you haven't noticed, my condition has been 'ameliorated'. The real problems are gone, so congratulations." He crossed his arms. "Mission accomplished."

"Commander Spock is correct, doctor," interjected S'vik, giving him a severe look strangely reminiscent of a rather by-the-book professor at the Academy. "You are in no position to judge your own recovery, particularly in light of your initial attempt to conceal the assault." He was gratified to see the doctor wince, though it was unclear whether the twitch was in recognition of his logic or an instinctive reaction to his word choice. "Furthermore, a mind meld will help to stabilize the progress you have already made, ensuring that your mind's condition does not worsen when you inevitably cease to meditate." He managed to refrain from adding that any Vulcan would be logical enough to keep meditating regularly, having learned it as a child, and therefore wouldn't have to meld repeatedly in order to fix changes in place. After all, angering the human would be… problematic. "I am certain that we informed you of the need for mind melds in – "

"You did, you did. I just didn't think it'd have to be so, you know, soon." He rubbed his forehead irritably.

"When would you have it take place?" Spock replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Later. Couple of weeks, maybe."

"Doctor, the goal of the primary meld is to solidify initial progress, which you have indicated has been made. If that is not the case, although it should be by this point, we can simply increase the frequency of the meditation sessions until you believe yourself sufficiently prepared."

McCoy might've imagined it, but he could've sworn that Spock nodded at the interfering healer.

"Fine, fine," he snapped. "I agreed, I know. Let's just get it over with."

"Very well." A second later, faster than McCoy would've thought possible, S'vik was on his feet, advancing rapidly. He took three steps back in reflex, slamming hard against the table.

_'Too close, much too close. Fingers on face, get him away – God, gethimaway…'_

When he came to himself, he almost punched Spock in the face. The Vulcan grabbed his fist before it came too close, blinked, and withdrew. It was only then that McCoy realized he was being supported, almost held upright.

"'M sorry, Spock," he managed, realigning himself over his feet. "I'm okay now. Just startled, s'all."

"Perfectly understandable, doctor."

"I fail to see how it is." S'vik sounded almost… affronted. "Dr. McCoy indicated a preference for immediate intervention, but when I attempted to access his mind – "

"S'vik," Spock calmly cut in. He was watching their patient's face, a strange glint in his eye. McCoy couldn't blame him: the simple words "access" and "mind" had almost sent him off again. _'Speaking of which…'_

"It wasn't another seizure, was it? It didn't feel like one, I mean."

"No, doctor. You merely fainted."

_ 'Why can't he just say "passed out" like a normal person? Makes it sound like I'm eighty.' _

"Good," he said aloud, more from the sense that he needed to say something than any real sense that it would add to the conversation. Surprisingly, S'vik's eyebrow position was closer to intrigued than bored. (At least, if he'd learned anything about Vulcan facial expressions, though the jury was still out.)

"Tell me, in what sense did it 'not feel like' a seizure? This could be useful information."

_'I was scared. I usually felt calm before a seizure. Too calm, really.' _But he couldn't tell Spock that. There was no need to make clear how deep and far the mistrust went if Spock didn't know; even if he'd guessed, there was no need to confirm it.

"I don't know." He shrugged in what he hoped was a noncommittal manner. "It just didn't." If he'd been worried that S'vik would press him, he could've relaxed. The younger Vulcan simply stared off, hand moving to rub his smooth chin.

"Curious." His voice was distant. "Perhaps humans are better subconscious judges of their mental state than I had thought possible." He turned suddenly to Spock, eyes alight with excitement. "There is a dearth of research. It would be useful to make a study of non-telepathic races in such situations."

There was something strangely dark in Spock's eyes, and uncharacteristically, he didn't rap out a perfect response right away. Instead, he took a few moments to turn the darkness down, focus on S'vik, and reply with a perfunctory "Indeed." As if sensing the human's eyes upon him, he hastily moved from there into a more complete explanation of humans' aversion to psychological tests and perceived invasions of privacy, both of which would make any proposed research challenging. S'vik nodded eagerly throughout, seemingly unaware both of his obvious curiosity and Spock's distance.

In the end, they agreed to put the meld off, at least for the time being. McCoy almost didn't care. There had been something strange in Spock's reaction, and while he thought he knew what it was, he didn't want to guess. He supposed he'd have to wait.

He hated waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

It was almost a week before he could persuade Dr. McCoy to attempt another mind meld. Naturally, he was not impatient, as impatience was not only an emotion, but one easily repressed and ignored. It would be disgraceful for a Vulcan with his training to be impatient. He was, however, considerably – relieved? – satisfied when the human announced that they'd best "get it over with."

His hands rested, now, on either arm of his chair, mirroring the human's appendages across him. (For a second, he felt the strange urge to also imitate McCoy's clenched fists, completing the symmetry. He dismissed it as, if not emotional, at least irrelevant mental static.) He was determined to be as careful and gentle as his professional desire for efficiency would allow. Any perceived abruptness would most likely be met by another panicked setback, which would, after all, be extremely counterproductive.

"Doctor?" he volunteered aloud, keeping his hands still. The human started, even though he must surely have been expecting S'vik to speak. The surprise quickly resolved itself into visible annoyance.

"Yeah, what?" he snapped.

"Are you prepared to begin?" He couldn't resist raising an eyebrow when the human hesitated. It seemed that the longer he spent on the ship, the more Commander Spock's strange demonstrative qualities made sense. "Further delay could cause your condition to deteriorate unnecessarily, which would be problematic as regards your future recovery." After another moment of half-irritated, half-nervous eye contact, the doctor sighed.

"Sure. Whatever you want." His fists tightened on the chair.

"What I want has little to do with my actions." _'I want to be in a well-appointed, preferably Vulcan, hospital.' _"I repeat: are you prepared?"

"Yes, already. Just hurry up." His expression hardened into a determined glare. S'vik briefly wondered why, but set the thought aside in favor of slowly lifting his hands to the human's face.

"My mind to your mind," he intoned. "My thoughts to your thoughts…"

He knew, somewhere, that he was repeating the ritual words, but they were receding, their echoes rebounding in the empty spaces in his skull. His training took over; he knew that without his conscious will, he had begun the deep, ritual breaths that would allow his mind to sink into the meld.

It wasn't that he opened his eyes. Not exactly. Rather, another sense entirely separate from his eyes, usually held docile by the chatter of his thoughts, wakened, exploring the newly doubled space of his head. There was the usual cleanliness, the order of a Vulcan mind, but there was also chaos, weaving in and around his thoughts and permeating his being with fleeting, struggling emotions.

'_What's he doing there – the damage, the collapsing struct – none of his busi – need to – out – just find it – out, get – just adjust the – out – only it's all so – go – confused, black, empty – out, out, OUT!'_

Pulling back with what he hoped wasn't an audible gasp, S'vik reevaluated the situation. A head-on approach of the sort that he'd use with a Vulcan clearly wouldn't work. The human's mind was too disorganized, too hostile to his presence. Obviously, he'd need some level of cooperation to get anything significant done.

'_Doctor,' _he thought in what he hoped was a "gentle" manner. (He was distantly aware that he was speaking aloud, but as far as he was immediately concerned, the words existed only in his – their – head.) _'I cannot penetrate your mind further without incurring damage.' _(Somehow, he managed to keep the thought that the damage would be mutual cloistered in the nebulous region of "his" brain.) _'There appears to be some sort of defense mechanism. I require your assistance. Sure, you do. Go away.'_

The thought wasn't exactly his, but it was close enough to seem more like random intuition than a response; he knew better than to be fooled by the impression.

'_I cannot readily assess the damage. Damage, what damage? I don't see – your mind as a whole is too chaotic – is that an insult? – for damage to be clearly distinguishable… at least from this distance.' _There was a brief pause.

'_What do we do?'_

He would've sighed in relief had relief not been wildly illogical. _'Is there anything that seems… problematic to you? Something askew or amiss? Yes, there is. I can feel it. There is, isn't there – be clear, now – does this seem right? Jagged, crooked, not right – sounds like the textbooks – practicum? – no, just theory – what kind of greenhorns are they – can we please focus?_

'_What do we do? Let me adjust it – you said you couldn't – you can lower the barriers. How do I – just trust, focus on positive – thought Vulcans didn't do – different in meld. Focus! Right. You in? Yes. Only the damage – bad news, always bad news when they say – need time, can shore up – seriously – expected, only expected. Second meld later – need to finish initial shoring and – fixed? – repairs. No. Not yet.'_

Once he'd been directed to a few areas of serious damage, he found the others surprisingly easy to locate. Perhaps it was the depth of his fusion with the human, the same fusion that forced their intertwined thoughts into constant interruption, but something about the majority of the chaos appeared normal. The trouble spots stood out as though they'd been… cut against the grain of the natural thought processes. It was still all horribly disordered, of course, but there was a sort of pattern in the unaffected areas that he could understand. (He distantly wondered if this was how humans could clearly distinguish "sane" from "insane," although there were few controlled and rational enough to truly qualify as the former.)

By the time he withdrew completely, blinking in the harsh light of his chamber, S'vik was confident that he'd not only reinforced the prior meditative work, but fixed some of the more noticeable problems. His patient seemed to agree, offering him a cheerful smile and a near violation of his personal space. (Thankfully, he withdrew the half-extended hand in time.) He even favored Spock with a broad grin. McCoy left with a wave and a promise to return the next day. Truly, a brilliant day's work.

As a result, S'vik was astonished to see an expression that approached… something on Commander Spock's face when they were alone.

"What did you do?" His voice was tight.

"I improved overall function, particularly equilibrium and calming mechanisms. I strengthened the areas dealing with potential seizures, nervous episodes, and related incidents. I – "

"Related incidents?"

"Nightmares. Irrational fear." Spock's eyes grew darker with each word. "Did I do something wrong?" He suddenly felt the urge to defend himself. "His openly expressed emotions are far more positive, which I was led to believe was the goal of these sessions."

"The goal was to improve long-term function." Spock paused briefly, gathering his thoughts, "Am I correct in stating that when you 'strengthened' the emotional areas, you constructed internal barriers to prevent their intrusion in the conscious mind?" S'vik nodded, allowing curiosity to overtake – nothing. (The meld must have interfered with his shields.) "Humans are fundamentally emotional, uncontrolled beings. As such, they make deliberate use of their more volatile states of mind. Anger and fear are seen as counterweights, rational reactions to trauma. Repression is unnatural to humans; it often interferes with their long-term function."

S'vik blinked once, twice. It was difficult information to process. All he could think was, _'I made it worse? How could I make it worse?'_

"I see," he managed. "I will attempt to correct my oversight." Spock eyed him curiously, darkness fading from his visage.

"Forgive me, S'vik, but I must know: how is it that, in spite of your specialized training, you were unaware of this facet of human psychology? I am given to understand that it is quite fundamental."

"The relevant literature is… extremely limited." _'The Academy training was a waste of time. I would've done better to join a ship immediately.' _"I believe further research is needed."

"Or at least better collaboration."  
"Indeed." Suddenly, he felt exhausted. He wasn't sure whether it was the meld or the knowledge that he'd likely harmed his patient, but he doubted his mental shields would survive the rest of the conversation. "If you would excuse me, Commander, I must meditate."

"Of course. I will see you tomorrow."

"Until then."


	8. Chapter 8

He felt like whistling. He actually felt like whistling. There was a sudden lightness. An excitement, almost a tension, as though he didn't go out and work, exercise, _move _he'd explode with energy. He practically buzzed through the paperwork on his desk and the physicals in Sickbay, sparing moments to spread half-irritable, half-chipper banter among his staff. It was the best he could remember feeling in months. Even the surprise of Spock at the door when he called "Enter" couldn't quell it.

The look on Spock's _face, _however, was another story.

"Doctor," he began, almost cautiously. McCoy wordlessly drew back to let him in. His arms twitched towards his back, as if to assume parade rest, before uselessly dropping at his sides. "Are you well?"

McCoy grinned. "Sure am. Can't remember the last time I felt this good. Don't know where S'vik learned to do that, but it really worked." _'Come to think of it, even he doesn't really bother me. How'd that happen?'_

"Yes, I can… see that." He shifted his weight slightly to his left foot. "Doctor, you have taken courses in human psychology, correct?"

"Absolutely." He briefly wondered what Spock was getting at before dismissing it as irrelevant. "It's a must these days, especially on starships. Everyone cooped up for months at a time, you know? I had to take extra courses at the Academy to apply to Starfleet."

"That is fortunate." He paused, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, there was something almost casual in his expression, as though he were reporting on a distant ion storm. "You are, of course, aware of the dangers of repression in humans. They – you – are highly emotional beings." _'What's he getting at?' _When McCoy didn't react, he added, "Interestingly, many humans lack the self-monitoring abilities necessary to identify mental distress, making them particularly susceptible to willful delusion."

"So? I've noticed the same thing." _'Definitely getting at something.' _He rubbed his forehead. "Listen, Spock. I may be feeling better, but I don't like double-talk any more than Jim does. What's up?"

"I have reason to believe that your current… optimism, is merely the result of artificially induced repression."

"That doesn't make any sense. As I recall, it was your boy S'vik that – that…" He trailed off. _'Of course. Why would I assume that suddenly becoming calm without thinking about any of this was a good thing?'_

"S'vik is a Vulcan Healer. As such, he is immune to emotion, not to error." He shifted to the right. "I believe that S'vik misunderstood the irrationality and complexity of human emotion."

"So he thought he was helping." McCoy rolled his eyes and took a seat. _'Where's that Saurian brandy I picked up on shore leave?' _"Damn Vulcans. Should've known there'd be more to it than that." He looked up quickly at the rigid, motionless science officer. "Not that there's anything wrong with you guys. I get that you're doing your best." He rubbed his temples again. "Must be this headache."

"Headache, doctor?" Faster than he would've thought possible, Spock was less than a foot away, staring at his skull as if it were transparent. "When did you first notice the symptom?" His eyes flicked about the room, clearly searching for a medical tricorder.

"Desk. Second drawer." He swiveled his chair away from the desk to allow Spock access. "You probably won't find anything, though."

"Only if I didn't know what to look for," Spock replied curtly, running it around his head. (Ironically, the faint whirring was the perfect frequency to worsen the pain in his head.) "I repeat, doctor, when did you first notice the pain?"

"Just now, really, though there's been sort of a pressure there all day."

"Indeed." The scanner slowed, pausing over his left eyebrow, which rose in an uncanny approximation of Spock's. "The problem appears to be minor, easily remedied. If left to itself, it will disappear." He rose, and McCoy again approached the desk, simultaneously reaching into the first drawer. An unspoken question and somehow sardonic nod later, he was uncorking a dark blue bottle. _'Good thing I cleaned the glasses last time.' _He raised his eyes briefly to Spock, more from politeness than any real expectation of acceptance. Satisfied with the shake of the head he got in return, he drew out a single glass.

"And I'll go back to…"

"Nightmares. Habitual irritability and emotional instability."

"Seizures?"

"… No. They are unlikely, at least for the time being. However, a properly conducted stabilizing meld will soon be necessary."

"Where's S'vik?"

"In his quarters, researching the texts on human psychology available via the ship's computer. They should allow him to make appropriate corrections in his meld technique."

"Why don't you just do it? Aren't you an expert on us 'illogical humans'?" _'Why is my glass still full?' _In one fluid motion, he tilted his head back and drained half his drink.

Thin lips twitched. It was almost a smile. "Yes, but not in the field of melding. Even were I an expert, my melding experience, whether with humans or with Vulcans, is somewhat limited."

"More than S'vik's?" There was that twitch again.

"No, but he at least has the training necessary to adapt to prolonged medical melding in another species."

"So I have to let him keep making his mistakes on me?"

"Essentially, yes."

A second gulp finished his glass. "Then I need another drink."

Spock's eyebrow shot to his hairline, but he knew better than to respond. Instead, he said, "I also theorize, doctor, that when the negative effects of S'vik's meld subside, your aversion to me shall return."

"Probably," McCoy replied, fingering the strangely cool bottle. "That a problem?"

"No. However, there is a conversation that should take place before contact with me becomes difficult for you."

"Sure. What about?"

Spock's stance stiffened, and his weight shifted firmly to center. "I wish to offer a formal apology for the actions of – "

"Not your fault, Spock."

"The perpetrator was my counterpart."

"So? That's no reason to blame yourself."

"I am not 'blaming' myself. Assignment of guilt and blame where none is merited is illogical." He almost glared. Almost.

_ 'Alright. Don't bug him about the emotion thing.' _"Right, sorry. Didn't mean to get you riled up." _'Now, what did I just say?' _"Why are you apologizing, then?"

"As my counterpart, the Spock of the _I.S.S. Enterprise _is a member of my House. As such, I would be remiss if I failed to offer you a formal declaration of guilt and request for reparations."

"Reparations."

"Under the terms of Vulcan tradition, you are entitled to – " He broke off as McCoy held up a hand.

"Spock, with all due respect, shut up."

"But I – "

"I don't want to listen to you, or your family, or your House, or anyone other than that creep take responsibility for what happened. It's no one's fault but his, and that's the end of it. If I can't be around you right now, that's my problem, and it sure as hell isn't a reflection on you."

"… Very well, doctor."

"That's better." He took a small sip of his drink. "Now take a seat, will you? I'm sick of craning my neck, and between my avoiding you and you not wanting to argue with me, we haven't discussed the new duty roster or this month's requisition forms yet."

"Doctor, are you certain that – "

"We've got time before whatever S'vik did to me wears off, and the best way to deal with irrational fear is desensitization." His eye twinkled. "You don't think you're getting out of this that easy, do you?"

"I assure you that that was not at all my intention," Spock returned, taking a seat across the desk. "I merely wished to save you the embarrassment of explaining why a ship of fewer than five hundred would need another seventy medical tricorders."

"Now listen here, you green-blooded computer…"


	9. Chapter 9

When his human shipmates needed to relax, they made use of a seemingly random – to say nothing of endless – selection of methods. At one point, he had spent the better part of a week trying and failing to organize human recreational activities into logical categories. He was… relieved to be free of the compulsion to choose or design elaborate wastes of his spare time. He could rely on the known, predictable benefits of meditation. For a logical being, there was no true alternative. It was particularly useful when, as occasionally happened, he was unable to banish certain thoughts from his mind. He knew that humans were prone to the same repetitive, grating patterns, but that they lacked mechanisms of control.

McCoy had once said it must be hell to be Vulcan. Sometimes he wondered if the reverse was true. But he had become the _Enterprise's _First for a reason, and it was not his desire to dwell on irrelevancies. Of course, it was his present preoccupation that necessitated extensive meditation.

_ 'Focus on the flame. The flame is all. Do not think. Breathe.' _He scarcely felt his legs curl into what he'd heard called a "lotus" position or heard the rustle of his meditation robe as it pooled around him. There was nothing but the pressure of his closed lids and the steady, almost strained rhythm of each breath in his lungs.

_ 'Centered. Controlled. Has the doctor seen S'vik since – controlled. Centered. Peace. Relax.'_

It took somewhat longer than usual for him to achieve a rudimentary meditative state. _'I have been remiss. It is fortunate I normally perform at above average efficiency, or Captain Kirk would have no doubt noticed my lapse. Deep breath in… and out. In and out.' _Satisfied that he was sufficiently removed from his life to examine and compartmentalize it appropriately, he began to examine his recent actions.

_'S'vik is well-trained, if dangerously inexperienced. It was entirely logical for me to intervene, but to do so further would undermine his authority with Doctor McCoy._

_ 'More pressing is the question of my method of intervention. Informing S'vik of his error was logical, but informing McCoy, particularly when I was fully aware that the effects were temporary… Another breath, further into meditation…_

'_There was no particular reason to __**not **__tell him, but lack of consequence is insufficient reason for positive action._

_ 'The doctor is a professional. He often makes use of his knowledge to control his inevitable emotional reactions to situations. Perhaps I subconsciously made the logical decision to keep him as informed as possible. No, that's not right…_

_ 'Of course, were either of the other two senior officers here, they would insist that my actions had some emotional cause. Not worth exploring… My view is insufficiently objective. Deeper, now…' _He focused on opening his mind, allowing motives and paths of action to bubble up from the depths.

_ 'Examine the results of the decision. Doctor McCoy's condition did not tangibly improve. Likewise, he may well have discovered the negative side effects of the meld on his own. The only noteworthy changes were in 1) McCoy's opinion of S'vik, and 2) my increased interaction with the doctor in the hours that followed. (My perception of these as the only two changes would suggest that one or both was the motive, as even if there are others, they would not have been factors in my decision-making process.)_

'_Of those, the more pertinent, the first, would imply that I acted out of a subconscious refusal to implicitly trust S'vik's expertise and a desire to warn the doctor of possible incompetence. However, I would also have been aware that such an action would undermine S'vik's future credibility with his patient, making my intervention an inexcusable breach of ethics. It is unlikely, given my desire to assist Doctor McCoy's recovery, that I would even subconsciously resort to such a device. However, the probability is not so low as to invalidate the hypothesis. Set aside for further consideration at a later date._

'_The second occurred to me quickly after the first, implying that on some level, I see it as relevant and significant. This begs the obvious question, namely, "Is increased interaction with Doctor McCoy a positive or negative factor?" If it is the former, it may or may not have motivated my behavior; if the latter, the hypothesis will have been conclusively disproven._

'_Consider frequency of meditation need, particularly prolonged meditation as is used in dealing with strong negative emotion and stress, in relation to presence of Leonard McCoy. Cross-list with need to employ control mechanisms and meditation in blocking positive emotion. Divide by total… carry the six… Result: negative emotion is approximately 4.3% more likely to result from interaction than positive in cases when both do not occur. For p of 0.05, data is… Inconclusive, likely compounded by environmental variables, i.e. – presence of James Kirk, hostile environments, mind-altering substances. Alternative test needed._

'_Perhaps a more direct consultation of my emotions. They can be reasonably controlled in the context of meditation…_

'_Interesting. There is some suggestion of positive associations, even if they are presently unverifiable. Returning to the second hypothesis, this can be considered weak evidence for. However, as a desire to "warn" McCoy would also result from perceiving him positively, it is only weak evidence for 2 over 1. Nevertheless, as positive associations would suggest a partially illogical motivation for my actions, it is necessary to ensure that such actions are not repeated. As the breach of ethics implied by the first hypothesis has not been confirmed, no formal response is required._

'_Analysis has been sufficient for the time being. Slowly withdraw. Focus again on breathing as it accelerates. Return to the light. Breathe.'_

He opened his eyes. His internal mechanisms were perfect enough to make the clock irrelevant, but he glanced at it anyway. _'Alpha shift in five minutes. I'd best get to the bridge.' _As he smoothly rose and turned to hang his robe up, he wondered if he should discuss the situation with the captain. But then, it wasn't really Kirk's concern.


	10. Chapter 10

With a final, shallowing breath, he opened his eyes to look at his patient. McCoy was still meditating; there was a vague, immediately quashed sense of pleasure at the thought that, this time at least, he had not required so much time as they had to order his thoughts. _'I shall require focus. There can be no room for error this time.' _S'vik quietly moved to extinguish the meditation candle, no longer important to the two officers in deep meditation on his floor, and turn the lights up to ship's standard.

It wasn't particularly surprising that Commander Spock was the next to finish. _'He must have had some annoyance. Perhaps a work issue?' _S'vik set his curiosity aside. It might not be an emotion in the strictest sense, but it was a distraction. A couple of calm, easily returned glances at the other Vulcan served to remind him that they were united in purpose. It would be rude to allow anything to interfere. Intense, unwavering attention of the sort only years of mental training could provide was their best tool.

With that said, the decision to simply _stare _at the doctor as he emerged from a meditative trance could've been better analyzed.

Once Doctor McCoy had stopped spluttering and retaken his seat, Commander Spock indicated with a small twitch of his shoulder that S'vik would begin. Naturally, the human didn't notice.

"Doctor." He left his hands carefully at his sides. _'Do not raise hands unexpectedly. Humans are often controlled by primal instincts, particularly in the aftermath of assault, and can consider hand movement hostile.' _"There were certain… unintended consequences of our meld. You might not be aware that – "

"I know." S'vik felt the slight tickle of his rising eyebrow. "Spock told me."

"I see." _'Why did he talk to McCoy without informing me? It seems irresponsible – but then, Spock is greatly experienced. There may be some logic in this situation of which I am unaware, and I shouldn't be hasty.' _"In that case, I would understand were you hesitant about attempting another meld." _'I have failed twice. Even a logical being would hesitate.' _"However, my research since then has proved most enlightening, and I believe that another meld would be successful."

"Now?" The doctor cocked his left eyebrow. His drawl thickened as he continued, "I suppose you waited after the meditation so I'd think it over first."

"That is correct, and it would be preferable to begin now so as to avoid complications. A second failed meld could have problematic consequences."

"Fine, fine. Whatever." S'vik absently wondered if all humans were this distinctly terrible at agreeing. "Just do it."

Yet again, long fingers approached McCoy's face. Ritual words, edged with perhaps the slightest sense of tedium, of _'are we really doing this again?'_, were the only audible sound in the small room.

His mind expanded, encompassing two sets of memories, of principles, of thought patterns, sliding into each other to become a mismatched whole. Now the threads of chaos were recognizable, familiar. He – they – could nearly disregard them in favor of broader focus. S'vik could feel the doctor's consciousness against his, pumping like a second heartbeat, occasionally ranging from his side to explore the sensation of the meld.

_'Curious. You're – new to me, you know. What's – don't touch! Untrained. Dangerous. Problematic – is it with you and that – perfectly acceptable. Focus! Tetchier in your head, aren't – we all are. Vulcan emotions are stronger than – they are, aren't they? Of course they are. That's why – discipline, strength, control…'_

Now that he had grown accustomed to seeing the invasive thoughts of the doctor as natural – at least, as natural as extreme chaos could be – he realized that the rumors about the relative vehemence of uncontrolled Vulcan emotion were true. On those occasions he had examined his own primal, chaotic urges in the depths of meditation, he had found them significantly more powerful, more overwhelming than those of the human. _'Perhaps it is because they are not mine. I thought you said we were one in the – not exactly to a professional. Well, what if they're just more directed? Fewer drives = more power. That would seem to be logical. Kiss my – Doctor, we really should return to the – right, sure. What do we – just focus on isolation and examination. Avoid – your mistake – understandable. New at – can't believe they assigned – not this argument – well, how'd you – best for – whatever. Focus.'_

It was also increasingly obvious that Commander Spock had been absolutely correct: control and repression were inappropriate methods of emotional management in a human. He could sense the rebellion in the greater chaos, the resistance to his carefully applied restraints. _'Start by releasing. Treat as though independent… redirection?' _It would have to be a tiny, delicate change. If he shifted the pattern of McCoy's subconscious slightly, his thoughts would run differently, settling into healthier, more normal rhythms. S'vik focused; there was a sense of shifting in the underlying firmament as the current of thought and sensation changed, sucked into a new pattern as if dragged by a sudden undertow. The current's flow became stronger, smoother, and more even, as though it were a temporarily diverted river returning to its deeply hewn bed.

_'It worked. It actually worked! It bothers me that you're surprised. You aren't? Point. Can we – wait. Need to – more? Why risk – stabilizing – don't need the – medical terminology/mumbo-jumbo. Always cut it out for – not professional. Bite – quiet.'_

The goal had become to fix the tiny warp in McCoy's mind, ensuring that nothing changed. _'You've done delicate work before, so you know – thought you said you had to focus. Fine.' _When stability was the issue, the simplest solution became the best. (After all, complex mental manipulations had an unfortunate tendency to rely on complicated, artificial structures of control and steady mental patterns. It would never work in a human.) The most reasonable solution seemed to be tying the change to a conscious signal. _'Humans __**can **__control their conscious thoughts, can't they – yes, you condescending – __**thank **__you.' _An easily remembered phrase would seal it in, and each repetition of the phrase would more firmly affix the change, allowing simple conscious control.

S'vik withdrew from the meld satisfied that Spock would have no complaints, and sure enough, when he explained his modification, both officers seemed to approve.

"So what's the phrase?" the doctor finally asked. "I am allowed to know, right?"

"Of course. How else would you control implementation?" There was a brief pause. _'Right. The original question. Why are humans so indirect?' _"The phrase is, 'Malphigian tubules'."

Spock raised an eyebrow. McCoy remained silent and motionless for an astonishing 21.4 seconds before sputtering something that sounded like some combination of "what," "why," and "nutcase." _'Perhaps I should explain._' For far from the first time, S'vik was… satisfied that, as a Vulcan, he could not become self-conscious.

"I selected the phrase because, as a medically trained xenobiologist, Doctor McCoy will be able to remember it, yet it is highly unlikely to appear in his thoughts ordinarily or to have any prior mental associations. It is also unlikely that another crewmember or relative will use the phrase by mistake. These factors will place the phrase entirely under McCoy's conscious control."

"Eminently logical," Spock said with a curt nod.

"Weird as hell, though," McCoy added in a low mutter. For a second, S'vik was nearly certain he saw Spock nod again. "That all for today?"

"Yes."

Spock backed slightly away from the door with the obvious intent of giving McCoy room to leave without getting too close. For S'vik, the gesture barely registered. It was logical, it had happened before, and Spock would keep doing it as long as he deemed it necessary.

What _did _register was McCoy shaking his head before gesturing to the door.

_ 'Go ahead,' _the gesture said. _'I'm fine.'_


	11. Chapter 11

Doctor McCoy knew full well that he had to start meditating in his own quarters, building the habit and improving his technique for the more complex meld work to be done later. S'vik had all but locked him in his rooms and yelled at him to get to it. It was – much as he hated to borrow from Spock – the only logical thing to do.

Nevertheless, looking at his floor, all he could think of were the hundreds of things he'd rather be doing.

'_Well, here goes.' _He didn't move._ 'No reason not to try meditating on my own. Besides, it'll be less distracting without Spock and S'vik hovering… Maybe I should quickly review Sickbay's treatments for today. Can't have M'benga making any mistakes, and – no. Get this over with. Come on, this'll be easy. I just have to sit down and relax right… now!' _His left foot shifted halfheartedly. _'What's wrong with me? Screw it. I might as well do something more constructive.' _

He headed to his computer, taking only seconds to pull up and dive into the kind of paperwork he'd ordinarily dismiss as pencil pushing nonsense. It was, if nothing else, a phenomenal distraction and a better excuse. After all, what would Spock say if he caught him? "Stop doing your job?" _'Of course, he'd find some Vulcan way to make following regulations look 'illogical'. Not that he'd be wrong, of course. I'm supposed to be meditating.' _

He was going to get up. He really was. But there were only a few more reports to finish, and he'd already admitted he was procrastinating. Considering that admitting it was half the problem, he'd really put in all the effort expected. _'So what if it's a flimsy excuse? It's not like I'm doing nothing.'_

He was almost thankful when the door chimed. _'Probably one of the Vulcans here to nag me.' _He could feel his eyebrows lift in an absurd parody of Spock's when James Kirk walked in.

"Hi, Bones. You busy?" He was putting up a good front, but the wariness showed in his neutral stance and carefully even tone.

"Not at all, Jim. Come in." A quick beckon later, Kirk was inside. _'Now, what does he want?' _"Something I can help you with?"

He snorted. "In a manner of speaking. I was wondering how long you're going to be my 'part time' CMO. It's not exactly regulation."

"Since when have you cared about that?"

"Since when have I been in your room for more than five seconds on personal business without a drink in my hand?"

"Oh, _that's _what you're here for. Why didn't you just say so? I've got some passable Saurian brandy here, and Scotty gave me a bottle of scotch for my birthday. Let's see, where is it…" His voice tapered off, sliding into the opened desk drawer. It took him a few seconds longer than usual to fiddle with the bottle and pour his captain a drink. _'I'm not stalling. Whatever this is, I can deal with it. That's why I'm not stalling.' _It took him a few seconds to realize that he'd handed the drink off and Jim was giving him a strange look in return.

"Something wrong, Jim?"

"Sorry." He smirked and took a drink. "I've just never seen you so quiet."

"Quiet? Since when?"

"That's the second time you've said 'since when' this conversation. You're not just quiet; you're repetitive."

"Very funny." _'Why's he still standing?' _"Take a seat, why don't you?"

"Thought you'd never ask." He took another sip of the brandy. "Smooth. Where did you say you bought this?"

"Starbase 317. I've got a friend there."

"Hmm." The look on his face said clearly that he knew there was a problem with the regulations _somewhere_, but he couldn't be bothered to figure it out. "So, how's the meditation going?"

"Fine. Very… fine."

"See what I mean about you being quiet? I'd rather not do this in mime."

"Well, if you insist: I was just doing some paperwork to put it off."

"Tsk, tsk. My CMO ignoring his prescription. You know, if you weren't technically on active duty, I'd have M'Benga make it a medical order." He reached for the bottle. McCoy quickly drew back, grabbing Kirk's glass to fill it himself. _'Like that'll work.' _"Seriously, though, Bones, what's the problem?"

"Dunno."

"C'mon, you can do better than that."

"I said I don't know!" Realizing that he'd just snapped at his C.O., he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Just a bit edgy."

"Can't see why when you have nothing but relaxing paperwork as far as the eye can see." A smirk and a shade of a wink were enough to assure McCoy that his apology had been accepted. Kirk shrugged. "Whatever. If you don't want to talk about it, we might as well enjoy this fine Saurian brandy… That is what this is, isn't it?"

"Of course. Only the finest." _'As far as I know. Really need to check the stuff when I get it.' _"Say, have you talked to Uhura lately? She's seemed a bit unfocused, and I was planning to have her in for a checkup."

"You really are bouncing off the walls. She isn't showing signs of anything that – "

"How would you know? Get your degree while I've been out sick?"

"Alright, alright. Suppose I should just be glad it's her you want instead of me. In any case, you're not 'out sick.' You're on a bit of a reduced schedule, but there's still plenty of work to complain about. Just because I'm not injured…"

"No one's more thrilled about that than I am. Do you have any idea how impossible it is to get you to hold still?" Much to his surprise, McCoy noticed both their glasses were empty. He couldn't remember either taking a drink. _'Better refill.'_

When Kirk left almost an hour later, he carried a third of the bottle with him. The other two thirds went into creating a light, relaxed feeling that almost reminded him of the meditative state. It reminded him that he'd doubtless made any sort of meditation pointless.

_ 'The hell with them. I'm plenty relaxed, and whatever they did's sticking. It's no big deal… Still, no reason not to repeat that stupid phrase S'vik gave me.'_

He worked on and off for another three hours. Any crewmember passing close enough to hear – of which, fortunately, there were none – would've been mystified to hear the ship's CMO muttering about annelids' urinary tracts.

* * *

**I'd like to formally apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I have no idea what happened. The last 300 words just dragged on for weeks, even though I had nothing to do. I'll try to get the next one in in a more reasonable timeframe.**


	12. Chapter 12

_'Strange. The doctor is distracted, unable to quickly achieve a meditative state.' _S'vik assuredly did _not _fidget as his patient struggled to relax, sliding out of normal consciousness as slowly as he did at the beginning of their sessions. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye assured S'vik that Spock was watching with similar disquietude.

_ 'The human could be neglecting his meditation, but what motive could he have for doing so? He is aware of its importance, and it takes little of his time when done correctly. In fact, he may achieve a meditative state quicker and more easily in familiar surroundings than in my room. Perhaps he is merely experiencing difficulties with the technique. I should ask – but humans lie frequently, and their reasons for doing so are ambiguous. Spock, then. He will know.'_

They both watched in cool silence as Doctor McCoy slipped away, waiting until they were certain he would not overhear to speak.

"The doctor appears to have neglected his treatment."

Spock nodded thoughtfully, although perhaps with a touch of irony. "That would appear to be the logical conclusion."

In a scarcely-noted contrast, S'vik shook his head. "I don't understand the reason for such neglect. McCoy's duties weigh on him little, and the treatment is nothing if not simple and efficient. I find it deeply problematic."

"Indeed. You would." Spock's words were almost accusatory, even as his tone remained perfectly neutral.

"I have no time for complex discursive dissection," S'vik replied curtly. "If you wish to imply something, you would do well to state it plainly rather than await my inference."

"Of course. I merely intend to suggest that your lack of experience with human irrationality – "

" – is far less a factor than you believe. While I will freely admit that my initial lack of knowledge made my work ineffective at first, I have since studied both human materials and the mind of my patient. I acknowledge your superior _degree _of expertise, but to deny that I have any is to undermine my professional standing in this case." He took care to notice his next breath, allowing it to momentarily fill his thoughts. _'I am Vulcan, and unlike Commander Spock, I have had little time to be influenced by humans. I am in control.' _"Therefore, I would appreciate it if you can explain Doctor McCoy's behavior, but if you cannot, I would ask you to allow me to handle the situation."

Spock stared at him levelly, eyes seeming to weigh him. It vaguely reminded him of the way his Clan Matriarch had looked at him when he had expressed his interest in a career as a Healer. It wasn't a look of condescension, _per se, _but there was the distinct implication that the viewer had every right to stare and judge and that that right was so well understood that there was no emotion attached to its expression.

Finally, Spock conceded. He neither nodded nor murmured his assent. He merely began to speak.

"Humans have a distinct, natural aversion to self-examination in any form, including meditation and spoken analysis. This is often more pronounced in extroverted personalities or individuals with significant responsibility. While I have yet to formalize my observations, I believe that the basic principle is one of distraction. Those humans with significant professional or social obligations either acquire them in an attempt to avoid introversion or find them a convenient excuse.

"Doctor McCoy is the _Enterprise's _C.M.O. Aside from his professional obligations to keep abreast of medical developments and monitor provisions, personnel, and facilities, he is held accountable for his ability to regularly interact with a variety of crewmembers for purposes of ascertaining physical and psychological health.

"Therefore, it stands to reason that he finds the underlying concept of meditation alien and perceives it as a waste of his time." He shifted slightly, moving his arms an inch from his sides before dropping them again. S'vik couldn't help but wonder what sort of overly demonstrative human social behaviors Spock had been obligated to adopt since boarding the _Enterprise. _

_'Of course, if such superficial cultural displays improve his rapport with humans, it is only logical to make use of them. It must have an effect on his methods of control, though… I'll need to investigate further.'_

"He needs to maintain meditative fluency of his own volition. Under the circumstances, that seems problematic. What shall we do?"

"Change his perception," Spock replied instantly in a tone that added, subtly but surely, _'What else would we do, you gibbering nitwit?'_ "To that end, it would be best to enlist the captain's aid. He is a far better judge of human reactions to positive and negative stimuli than I."

"Very well." A brief, focused moment dispelled a thought threatening to become sarcastic. "Has the captain had recent contact with him?"

"I am not certain. There have been no formal meetings, but they have a significant informal relationship, and so may frequently meet without my knowledge."

"Indeed. Given that your rapport with the captain is better than mine" – _'and that you are certain I shall make some sort of mistake'_ – "you should approach him."

"… Very well."

The pause could've meant any number of things. Without realizing it, S'vik raised a finger to his chin. _'Is he aware that he's echoing me? Doing so deliberately? Was my suggestion somehow unexpected? Unwanted?' _He shook his head slightly, as though to dislodge the thought. _'I'm becoming more demonstrative. Undoubtedly the humans' influence. Perhaps I should spend this evening in meditation._

'_Of course, if my difficulty in completing my assigned task is a result of my failure to understand humans, my time would be better served by research. And as the theories clearly cover only general cases, rather than specific responses, field research would be best.'_

"Spock," he said aloud. "Where is one likely to encounter a wide behavioral cross-section of the ship's crew?"

Spock blinked. "The recreation room offers ample opportunities for off-duty survey, but the widest samples are always to be found in areas that must be frequented by all crewmembers. I would recommend the ship's cafeteria."

"Very well." S'vik might've imagined it, but Spock's lip seemed to twitch briefly. _'Excessive contact with humans is to be avoided, and there's no reason not to meditate after I've studied them.'_

"Then, if I might begin your study with an introductory human expression, 'Good luck'."


	13. Chapter 13

Captain Kirk was engaged in a furious, silent battle of wills. His opponent: cold, merciless machine. Armed only with the wits and the strength of character with which the common man is endowed, he faced his task: defeat and control of a hostile computer. He needed only bring his formidable willpower to bear, and even alone, without his loyal officers and crew, he could find a way to accomplish his mission. So focused was he that he failed to notice the cheerful young ensign approaching him from behind. It wasn't until she tapped him on the shoulder that he jumped with a start.

"Sir, why are you staring at the replicator like that?" she asked politely. "Isn't it working?"

"Yes, but, um… Sorry, did you want to use it?" He backed off quickly, vaguely wishing that he could shake his fist at McCoy's favorite method of nutritional control without embarrassing himself in front of his crew. _'The second I figure out how Bones programmed that new diet in…' _

He made his way to a table, determined not to look down at his decidedly unappetizing salad. _'Not even olives. What kind of a salad doesn't have olives?' _Unfortunately, it seemed that everywhere he looked was some (comparatively) delectable tray in the hands of some crewman or another. He briefly considered commandeering one, but he'd been in the business of bending Starfleet regulations for long enough to know that he couldn't get a reputation for doing it superfluously. (He could practically hear Admiral Weisenkoff denouncing him as a scoundrel abusing his power to threaten not only his crew's lives, but the very food they ate.)

_'There's no reason to be dramatic. I just need to focus on something else, eat this as quickly as possible. Now, where's that new ensign Scotty was showing around the other day – what was her name? Some kind of flower… Violet? Rose? Oh, there she is, getting something with a few others… Rosemary, that's it!' _His hand moved mechanically; the salad began to vanish. _'Where's she starting? Hydroponics? No, then Scotty wouldn't have been showing her the warp plasma conduits. Why did I think – oh, right. She was talking with Sulu. Stupid of me, really. _

'_Now, what else?' _He cast about the room, eventually settling on a set of familiar features. _'Spock.' _He was halfway to a greeting when he realized he was mistaken. The Enterprise's other Vulcan had wandered into the mess hall and was clearly trying not to look confused.

_ 'The Vulcan shrink – healer – whatever. What was his name?'_

"S'vik!" he called. _'Funny. Didn't even know Vulcans __**could **__flinch.' _"Over here. Sit down a minute!"

S'vik paused a moment, eyeing him curiously, before noncommittally clasping his hands behind his back and proceeding to the captain's table. "Is there something I can help you with, Captain Kirk?"

"Just relax, would you? Have a seat." After S'vik failed to move for a second, Kirk tapped the chair for emphasis. With nothing better to do, he sat. "You looked a bit lost. Something up?"

S'vik was still considering how to interpret 'up' when Kirk slapped his own forehead. "Oh, right! Sorry, there. 'Something up' is a human expression. It means 'is there something important going on' or 'are you doing something specific?' So, with that in mind, something up?"

"… No, there is not. I… appreciate your explanation, captain. Thank you."

"And here I thought Vulcans didn't do gratitude."

"We don't, but I am given to understand that thanks is a non-optional human social convention. If you consider it unnecessary given my background, I will refrain from similar expressions in the future."

"Whatever works for you." He shrugged. "I'm used to dealing with Vulcans, remember? Say, if it isn't too rude, I wanted to ask you about something else."

"There's no reason for concern. Politeness is irrelevant to Vulcans."

Kirk smiled. _'Sure it is.' _"Alright, then. What's with the way you use contractions?"

"Excuse me?"

"Contractions. You know, like 'can't' or 'won't.' I've noticed that you don't use them consistently."

"Neither do humans, to the best of my knowledge."

"True, but we're fundamentally illogical." He managed to repress the impulse to waggle a finger and smirk. It would undoubtedly be lost on S'vik. "I would expect you to operate regularly, right down to your speech patterns."

"Why? It's well known that many sentient beings 'gloss over' insignificant parts of speech unless their order is particularly important in determining meaning in a given context. Hence, in some scenarios contractions expedite conversation while in others they don't."

"I see. Very logical." He took a sip of coffee to hide his smile. "Why are you here, anyway? I thought you'd been using the replicator in your room." _'And on an unrelated note, why can't the replicators here make actual coffee?'_

"I have, but it occurred to me that in avoiding the common areas, I was missing opportunities to study normal human behavior. It's important in establishing a baseline."

"Is there any way I can help?"

"… Please explain the actions of that group of humans." True to form, he indicated the table of young yeomen with only a slight flick of his eyes. "They have been speaking animatedly since before I arrived, but the content of their discourse has been largely incomprehensible."

_'Don't smile. Whatever you do, don't smile.' _He took another sip. "Well, Mr. S'vik – is it alright if I call you that? It's weird without a title – anyway," he added as S'vik began to open his mouth, "there are many reasons why human speech may seem bizarre or nonsensical to an outsider. Could you be more specific?"

"Very well. The primary conversation seemed to center on some sort of recreation, the exact nature of which I could not determine, but in which none of the speakers appeared to participate. They referred only to other humans."

"Did you catch the name of the activity?"

"'Base ball,' I believe. Are you familiar with the phenomenon?"

"Oh, yes." It was getting increasingly difficult to keep his tone serious. "It's quite popular among some groups of humans. Baseball is a spectator sport. You don't just play it; you watch it, you root for the teams, you follow the players." He belatedly realized he'd begun to gesture to emphasize his points. S'vik's eyes were following his hands with undisguised curiosity.

"I… believe I understand."

"Excellent. Was there anything else?"

"Yes. There appeared to be some sort of secondary discussion, completely unrelated to the primary, regarding a female science officer and a male in engineering. What relation would this have to the recreational discussion, and if there is none, why was it included?"

_'Note to self.' _"Well, you see, humans like to gossip. Rumor is a common source of entertainment, especially in casual conversation. It tends to find its way into everything." There was a pause as he waited for a follow-up question that never came. He cleared his throat.

"I believe that should be sufficient for now. Thank you for your assistance, captain." There was a strange awkwardness in the way he said 'thank,' as though it were not only unusual, but obscene. "If I may take my leave, I should return to my quarters."

"Of course." He had to fight back the urge to add 'dismissed.' _'God, I'm already turning into a stuffed shirt. What would McCoy say?' _"It was a pleasure."

S'vik bowed his head briefly before rising. Kirk watched him leave.

_ 'Seems decent enough. Wonder how McCoy's getting on with him… I'll ask Spock for a report later.'_


	14. Chapter 14

"And why, exactly, didn't you come to me with this sooner, Mr. Spock? As this ship's captain, I am responsible for the welfare of _all _my crew, and I can't do my job if I don't know what's going on with them." He waited a moment. "Well?"

Spock blinked. "Had you requested regular status reports, I – "

"I shouldn't have had to request them! They should've been on my desk the moment you thought things were going south."

"Expecting me to anticipate your thoughts is highly – "

"Don't." He raised a finger threateningly. "Don't say 'illogical.' Aside from the fact that I'm sure informing me was in the regs somewhere, you have more than enough common sense to work this one out." Spock shifted to one side. It was as close as he regularly came to expressing embarrassment. "Look, I'm glad you're telling me now. Just don't leave me out of the loop again. So, what do you want me to do?"

"I believe that there is a distinct need of… tact in approaching Dr. McCoy. I am given to understand that he would be offended by the facts of his reticence in self-treatment despite their veracity."

"Of course he would. He just… um…" Kirk gestured uselessly for a moment before resolving the thought with, "I'll handle it, OK?"

"That would be preferable." Spock politely stood at attention, awaiting his often-forgetful captain's dismissal. When it came, he quickly retreated to his lab.

He spent the next few hours utterly engrossed in the activities of five experimental bacterial colonies. A young ensign in Medical had nervously approached him a few days ago with an idea for using a species indigenous to the Tarsus system to synthesize a more efficient power supply for scanners, and unlike most of the borderline-fantastic ideas junior staff came up with, it had seemed like a viable project. Now, he was drafting the inevitable paper in his head, and the ensign was in every day to put in a solid six hours on her first major discovery. Their silence was unbroken but for the whirring of machinery and the occasional qualitative observation, floated aloud before going into the computer's logs where both could access it.

Indeed, illogical as it was, he almost managed to forget the captain's promise to "handle it." Were it not, in fact, for the use of that particular phrase, he might have set the entire conversation aside for later analysis. But he'd heard of things being "handled" before, and in his unequivocally vast experience with humans, it seldom boded well.

Kirk undoubtedly intended no harm, but he had an _(irritatingly?) _understandably human tendency to react first and think things through later. It had made a hash of more than one official function, to say nothing of the dozens of nights the ordinarily successful captain had "un-postponed" a chess game due to a "change of plans."

"Um, sir?" Ensign Zhang knew better than to actually tap him on the shoulder, but from the sound of her voice, he could guess she'd already spoken at least once.

"Yes?" he replied, turning to face her.

"I said I've got to head out. Alpha shift starts in five minutes."

"Of course. Dismissed." As he watched her leave, it occurred to him that he'd best close out of his trials before he was expected on the Bridge.

_ 'Captain Kirk will be on duty, and Dr. McCoy will most likely accompany him. Observing their reactions will allow me to extrapolate the general points of their conversation.'_

(He might've made it to the Bridge a bit early for his shift, but by no means did he hurry.)

Strangely, there seemed nothing unusual about Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk's interactions. The former arrived to hover by the captain's chair at his accustomed time, and neither watched or spoke to the other more than was usual (allowing, of course, for a standard deviation of twenty seconds of staring per twenty minutes and three remarks per ten minutes).

'_Perhaps I should increase the frequency of my checks from every 72 seconds to every 54. Given the more serious concerns of both the current shift and their conversation, it is unlikely that either the captain or the doctor will notice the heightened surveillance.'_

But in spite of his increased vigilance, he could see no further contact between Kirk and McCoy than was strictly normal (within established parameters). The only difference was a heightened interest in his surveillance. Every so often, the captain would quickly meet his eyes and look away in what appeared to be embarrassment. The doctor's looks were more confused than nervous, but there was a suggestion of guilt in them as well.

So preoccupied was he in his study of the other two senior officers that he didn't immediately notice the increasingly confused eye contact among the rest of Alpha shift. His first clue was a pair of whispers, pitched too low for a human in his position, from the helmsmen's desks in front of him.

"What's going on with him today?"

"How would I know? I'm not a Vulcan expert."

"Ensign Chekov," he interrupted. "We appear to have deviated from the planned heading. Please redirect to 50-mark-204-mark-13."

"Right away, sir!" He somehow managed to return to his work as efficiently as possible for a human and raise his eyebrows at Lieutenant Sulu at the same time.

Spock glanced around in time to see Lieutenant Uhura hurriedly return her eyes to her console. When he took a second, he realized that even the captain's security complement was watching him. (Of course, as he decided upon further reflection, there was no logical reason for surprise. After all, as the only ones with no immediate duties, they were the most likely to observe those present for unusual behavior.)

_ 'Kirk and McCoy will most likely have noticed as well. Of course, should the captain choose to question me about the scrutiny, I will have a socially acceptable opening to learn more of his conversation with the doctor.'_

But after shift, Captain Kirk simply left the Bridge, not even asking his first officer for a friendly game of chess.

_ 'Unusual behavior, directed towards me rather than the doctor, who appears cognizant of his negligence. Still, lack of behavioral change around the captain indicates a lack of association. Why, then… He failed to speak with McCoy, and is avoiding me out of guilt at the failure. Obvious, really. It seems I shall have to approach Dr. McCoy myself.'_

Unfortunately, both humans were both hell-bent on avoiding his inevitable lectures and capable of doing so unsettlingly well. (Spock privately resolved to start keeping track of their maneuvers in case they attempted to evade him again.) By the time he managed to corner the captain alone, another Alpha shift had come and gone. The human forestalled any (exceedingly reasonable) protest with a raised hand.

"Now, I know what you're going to say, Spock." He smirked. "Don't worry. I'll admit I was putting it off, but I had a talk with him."

"And?"

"He'll be doing whatever 'voodoo' exercises you and S'vik can come up with. I've made sure of it personally."

"Oh. How did you accomplish that, Captain?" While his tone was faintly wry, he found himself intrigued. That there was a way to make Doctor McCoy logical and obedient was… exceedingly gratifying. And interesting.

"Simple. I told him that if he kept neglecting his health, I'd have to write him up and put him on medical leave. I can do that, you know. Nice little loophole in the regs."

"And he found this an effective threat?"

The captain actually laughed aloud. "But of course, Mr. Spock. How do you think it'd look for him if he got written up for medical neglect while serving as _our CMO? _The irony would kill him."

"That is a solution that… would not have occurred to me. I will endeavor to explain it to S'vik. Thank you, Captain."

"No problem. By the way, how much longer is S'vik going to stick around?"

"He has informed me that, in his professional opinion, the initial 'fix' was sufficient to restore Dr. McCoy to functionality. As it consisted of multiple melds" – _'due to incompetence'_ – "he believes that he has gained sufficient familiarity with the doctor's mind to fix any remaining serious damage with a few simple alterations. There would be a brief recovery period after the third meld, but barring any unforeseen complications" – _'like those we've been seeing for the past three weeks' _– "he will be able to leave in approximately four days."

"Excellent. Not that I don't like having him around," he added hurriedly. "It'll just be nice to have things back to normal, you know?"

"I do, Captain."


	15. Chapter 15

He could feel his mind coalescing, snapping back to its independent self, as the meld ended. Slowly, he opened his eyes. S'vik was expressionless, of course, but for the briefest of moments, there was a hint of _something_ on his face. It was enough to prompt McCoy to ask the blindingly obvious question.

"How'd it go?"

"Reasonably well, doctor, although it will require a period of some days to determine if there have been side effects." He removed his fingers from the human's face, placing them in his lap. McCoy actually looked at his hands, still perched on the arms of his chair, before resettling with an awkward half-nod. He glanced at Spock out of the corner of his eye.

_ 'It'll be nice to not have him peering over my shoulder every second. I mean, he's acting like some sort of mother hen, and everyone knows that's my job. This keeps up much longer, and Kirk'll spend his next physical making snide "don't you agree that this is annoying?" comments.'_

"Well, Spock, what do you think?" he asked aloud. "Excited to get back to your regular God knows how long-hour shifts?"

"I am a Vulcan. I do not get 'excited,' although it is not surprising that you would forget."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Now you appear to be forgetting our previous conversations as well. Perhaps S'vik should check to ensure that your memory is not defective."

"I'll show you 'defective' as soon as the week's up." His voice came out in a familiar snarl, but he could feel a grin pushing the corners of his mouth. _'I've been out of commission too long. I'm starting to get soft. Never mind. Spock's not my priority.'_ He turned to S'vik. "Anything else I should do before I clear out?"

"No. Merely remember to continue the prescribed meditations… If possible, without further prodding from the captain or us."

Somehow, Spock managed to look uncomfortable without changing expression.

"No wonder he tracked me down to ask 'how things were going.' You're just all watching out for me, aren't you?" He rolled his eyes. _'Of course, they had to. But then, that's no reason not to grouse for a minute.'_

"It would appear that it was the prudent course of action," replied S'vik coolly. "Should you wish to avoid similar interventions in the future, you need merely do as required."

"Yeah. I know, I know." _'I'll say this for Spock: at least he's figured out subtlety.'_ "Now if you don't mind," he added, standing, "I promised M'Benga I'd go over a couple of cases from this week to make sure everything's going smoothly."

"Of course. Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow." He quickly turned around and left, so quickly that it took him a few moments to realize that Spock had followed him out and drawn abreast in the hall.

"Something you wanted to talk about?"

"It is nothing, doctor. Only… there appeared to be nothing wrong in the meld."

It took a second to recognize the question. "No, I mean yes. Everything was fine. At least, I think it was. It can be a bit hard to tell, you know, and it's not like I'm a telepathy expert."

"Did S'vik's thought patterns appear normal?"

"How should I know? I can never tell what's 'normal' for you green-blooded computers. He certainly didn't seem nervous, but he was pretty confident the first time, too."

"Indeed." The pause, though only a second long, was somehow exaggerated. McCoy glanced over to see if he could catch anything in the unexpressive Vulcan features on his left, but as soon as he looked, the hesitation was gone. "Speaking as a medical professional, do you consider S'vik competent?"

"It's hardly my specialty, Mr. Spock. Aren't you the one always saying I could never really understand what you do in melds?"

"Doctor, I am attempting to ask you a serious question."

"When aren't you?" Spock didn't blink. He sighed. _'So much for his superior sense of subtlety.' _"Look, I make it my policy not to judge a fellow healer – or what have you – if I'm not sure what they're doing. Sure, he seems a bit young, and if he was a surgeon or a xenobiologist he'd strike me as a real greenhorn, but I don't know how Vulcans mature, or how much he knows, or how 'professional' his thoughts are. I can tell you I couldn't see _everything_ in his mind during the melds, but I'm guessing that's something you can all do."

Spock nodded. "That is correct. There is some limited shielding within melds, even without significant specialized training."

"Well, then I can't really say." He shrugged. "Why're you asking, anyway? I thought he was one of your Vulcan geniuses."

"Indeed. As a Vulcan, his intelligence is far above that of any human. However, his inexperience with illogic has caused difficulties in your treatment in the past. I concluded that it would be logical to ensure that the final meld went as planned."

"Of course." They walked in silence for a few seconds. "Spock. Has it occurred to you that you might be a bit… suspicious of S'vik?"

"Suspicion is an emotion, and I – "

"Yeah, yeah, I know. How about 'overly wary'?"

"… I will concede that my caution over the past week may have been slightly exaggerated, but it was thoroughly grounded in fact."

McCoy smirked. "Of course it was. Anyway, I'll be glad for things to get back to normal around here. Am I as behind on paperwork as I think I am?"

"To answer that question would require a knowledge of your accuracy in guessing that I do not possess."

"Whatever happened to your fantastic odds calculations?"

"It appears that your thought processes, unlike geological upheavals and the movements of our enemies, are too irrational to be predicted."

"Glad to hear it. Seriously, though, don't you think you've been a little hard on the kid?"

"Not at all," he replied smoothly. "S'vik is a Vulcan. He can accept and manage appropriate correction."

"I heard that he's been going to observe humans in the Mess. That true?"

"It is."

"Think it's been helping him?"

"I cannot say."

"So much for understanding 'logical' thought."

"Doctor, as you will recall, my precise words were…"

…

S'vik watched them leave for a few seconds, waiting patiently for the door to slide closed as soon as they'd gone. He was able to hear most of their conversation, making the most of his Vulcan ears and Spock's forgetfulness of their existence. (In all fairness, it had likely been some time since the Commander had needed to take Vulcan hearing into account.)

_'It is true that I required additional time to adjust to human thought patterns. The consistent observation was indeed helpful, far more than the texts on the subject available._

_ 'It is unfortunate that Vulcan Healers have so little on other races available to them. I shall contact the head of the Vulcan Science Academy: it is clear more research is needed in the area, and he will most likely be interested in my plans for practical supplementation to Healer training. I shall certainly need the assistance of members of the Academy in confirming and formalizing my findings here._

_ 'I will craft the message later. I need to meditate.' _He slowly closed his eyes and began to slow his breathing, secure in the knowledge that in assisting a single human, he had discovered a worthwhile new avenue of research for his species.

* * *

**Sorry. I know this is a weird place to end it, but my updates have been getting slower and slower as real life has gotten more and more distracting, and there's nothing that irritates me more than authors too lazy to at least try to end a story they no longer have the time for. I hope this isn't too abrupt. If there's a better way to end this quickly, I'm open to (limited) suggestions.**


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